"Darren, are we sure about this?"
The voice was soft, uncertain, almost lost beneath the music playing from the old speaker on the nightstand. It belonged to a young woman, her fiery red hair catching the dim light in their cramped apartment. Freckles dusted her fair skin, and her wide, worried eyes remained fixed on the man she had just addressed. She couldn't shake the unease settling in her chest.
Their apartment wasn't much—just a small rented space with one bedroom, a tiny living room, and a single, often-problematic bathroom. The walls were thin, the furniture secondhand, and the air carried the faint scent of paint. That was because Darren had been at it for hours, creating banners, his hands and arms covered in streaks of color as he worked tirelessly on the bed, his lean, toned chest bare. He wore only a pair of loose sweatpants, his messy blonde hair falling over his forehead as he focused on his task.
